The Egypt Game
by Sunfreak
Summary: Egyptian AU. The Pharaoh's got problems, the Tomb Robber's losing it, and the High Priest's found a very interesting new 'friend.' Yaoi.
1. To Make It Great

A/N: I love these Egypt-era AU fics, and I've been meaning to write one for a while now. This particular storyline I've been fiddling with on and off for a few months, but I wanted to come up with a few twists in the usual formula and finish a couple of my other stories before I started posting it. To be honest, I haven't actually finished any, but I wanted to start posting anyway, so remember: reviews = story. I tend to work on them according to a combination of their popularity and the helpfulness of their fans.  
  
Like most of these fics, this WILL contain yaoi (and possibly yuri as well), possible lemon, and violence, depending on how things go. Also, I know just enough about ancient Egypt to know that I know absolutely nothing at all, so that is why this is an AU. There will be certain Egyptian customs and gods mentioned or used, but a great deal of such things will be completely made- up, so don't try to do your next history report off any of the following. ^_~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"To Make It Great"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"I hate my job," the boy muttered.  
  
"I hate your job too," the priest sitting at his side agreed with a slightly amused smirk. "And I do not envy you it for a moment, my pharaoh."  
  
The pharaoh gave him a reproachful look that wound up coming out more like a pout. "Seto, you're awful," he accused. "It's bad enough that I have to oversee this horrible auction; why do you have to try to make it even more difficult?"  
  
"I am your advisor, sire. It's what I do," Seto replied blithely, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap. Had anyone else struck it, the pose might've appeared demure, but on his lanky frame it was a blatant challenge.  
  
The young pharaoh rolled his eyes and returned his attention to the crowded courtyard below their balcony. He was a boy, or little more than one, with a slight frame, intense eyes, and spiked hair. His bangs hung in his eyes, a brilliant blond, though the rest of his hair was black and highlighted by a color that could've easily been either purple or magenta or something else altogether. His name was Yuugi; he was the pharaoh of Egypt and a possessor of great power, both political and magical.  
  
And he was also clearly not a very happy pharaoh at the moment, although his people would not have understood why. After all, before him stretched the spoils of what had been a long and violent battle for his right to continue his rule. The enemy soldiers' supplies, the loot taken from their camps, and most importantly the soldiers themselves, now being sold as slaves- all were there for him to admire. Surely that was something that would please any ruler.  
  
Yet it disgusted him. It always had, to be honest, though to his people it was simply a part of everyday life. The losing side in any battle was enslaved by the victorious, and there was simply no other option, save execution. It was the way things were. The way they had always been.  
  
But that didn't mean that he had to like it.  
  
"Calm yourself, my pharaoh," Seto said with a faint, insincere smile. "This is only what those who would attack us deserve. Perhaps you could pick out a little pet from among them. It's time you had one."  
  
The other was far from persuaded, and he made that fact clear through his tense silence. Yuugi did not think like normal people. He was one of those dangerous sorts that might be defined as a "revolutionary"- the sort of person who'd gladly screw up your life, everyone else's, and the whole damn world if you gave him half the chance just because there might be a chance to have the end result be slightly better than it used to be.  
  
But though Seto knew all this, he just smiled again, and again it was empty and meaningless, as was everything he did.  
  
The Pharaoh Yuugi closed his eyes and sighed, looking suddenly very old despite his youthful face. "No one deserves to lose his or her freedom," he said sorrowfully, and in a way that suggested he understood too well the meaning of imprisonment. And he did, even though his own cage was a gilded one, hung with pretty ornaments and fancy names.  
  
"But it IS what they deserve," Seto repeated calmly with all the disturbingly unshakable conviction of someone who has never been allowed to be wrong, never been allowed to be less than perfect.  
  
"But it's no way to live," Yuugi countered harshly, his voice uncharacteristically sharp and enough to cut a lesser man to the bone. Yet, when he looked up at Seto, his eyes were lonely and pleading. "Tell me, Seto . . . Have you ever found anything that made it great to be alive?" he asked.  
  
"I am afraid not, my pharaoh," the priest replied with perfect honesty and no particular distress. "Why; have you?"  
  
"Never," the pharaoh whispered hoarsely, and he closed his eyes once again.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. : review, just 'cause : . 


	2. Dust, Sweat, And Roses

A/N: La la la. Chapter two of da Egypt fic. The slaves' language, by the way, is Japanese, because that's the only foreign language that I both have enough background in and can safely write in without being harassed by my dear friends Anie and Bex about my tenses and plurals and so on, since they know jack shit about it. ^__^ No worries for the (mostly) monolingual; there won't be much of it anyway.  
  
Still AU, and now with added shounen ai! -^__^-v  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Dust, Sweat, And Roses"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The blonde was beautiful, Bakura had to give him that. Even draped in chains and fetters, he was still that kind of dangerous, infatuating beautiful that one could too easily become addicted to. But he was proud too, and appeared quick to anger, and really not at all the tomb robber's style. Too high-maintenance.  
  
And "high-maintenance" meant that selling him would be difficult for the market's managers, especially with the hundreds of other new slaves they had to deal with. Bakura, however, knew of a few buyers that specialized in breaking disobedient property- especially such attractive property. If he purchased the boy, he could make a killing in privately selling to one of them. He certainly had enough money: he had gotten an indecent sum off the gold earrings and ankh he had stolen from some nameless pharaoh's tomb not a month before. He still had an armband left from the haul, in fact- a delicate silver thing, and it'd sell damn well too with how rare silver was around here.  
  
Still . . . he felt almost guilty at the thought of doing that to this boy. And he never felt guilty.  
  
But this time, there was that OTHER boy . . .  
  
That other boy's skin was remarkably fair, and the sun had already scorched it almost crimson, making his hair appear literally white against it. But really, he was a lovely creature despite the burns, even more so than the blonde. And yet he clung to that young man like a child afraid of losing a favorite doll.  
  
For some reason, Bakura did not want to make that boy sad, and it was clear that losing the blonde might well kill him.  
  
He wasn't the only one in that little group beside the blond- there was another youth with short, dark hair and a build that would've made a Greek weep for joy, and a brunette girl with chopsticks in her tresses, curves that went all the right ways, and startlingly large blue eyes. Neither of them had left the blonde or the lovely one's sides since they'd arrived in the courtyard.  
  
Bakura found that he was getting rather jealous of the blonde, actually. He would've liked very much to hold that pretty white-haired slave. Logically, of course, he knew that the boy's hair could not actually be white. His own might've been, true, but he was one of a kind. A freak, in less polite terms. He had been assured of that often enough.  
  
But no one as lovely as that boy could be a twisted thing like he was.  
  
A moment passed as he just looked at the slave-to-be, and wished more than anything to be the blonde, just for a little while. Just long enough to see what the lovely one's skin felt like; what his hair smelled like.  
  
And then, before he knew it, he'd slipped out of the crowd of citizens and into the crowd of slaves. The risk, he knew, was insane. He'd be luckier than he deserved if he didn't get snatched up and sold too, especially with his unfortunately exotic looks. But he had to see. He had to know . . .  
  
He had to know something about that boy. Anything, so long as it was about that boy.  
  
A hand suddenly clamped onto his wrist; he jerked in shock and automatically went for his knife, but a voice hissed, "/Ryou-kun, it's me!/" in both the soldiers' tongue and his ear. He was never more grateful to be bilingual as he turned to face the speaker and nearly fell over.  
  
It was a boy, or little more than one, with a slight frame, intense eyes, and spiked hair. His bangs hung in his eyes, a brilliant blond, though the rest of his hair was black and highlighted by both that same blond and a color that could've easily been either purple or magenta or something else altogether.  
  
And his resemblance to the pharaoh was flawless, save that slightly more sun-streaked hair and his startling eyes. His were deep and a harsh crimson, where the pharaoh's had always been flat, cool violet.  
  
"/Ryou-kun, where is Katsuya? Do you know if he escaped?/" the pharaoh's look-alike asked urgently, tightening his grip.  
  
Bakura just stared at him blankly. 'Ryou-kun,' he had called him? Wasn't that a name of some kind?  
  
There was a shout, and the blonde he had seen earlier suddenly forced his way through the crowd. The look-alike's expression was torn between horror and joy, and he flung himself at the taller boy with a strangled, grief- filled cry.  
  
"/Yami-kun!/" the blonde said in delight. "/Thank the gods you're alive!/"  
  
"/I have,/" the look-alike- apparently "Yami-kun"- answered ruefully, hugging the blond even harder and squeezing his eyes shut. He really did look remarkably like the pharaoh when he acted like that, Bakura noted with a detached sort of bewilderment.  
  
The blonde's other companions appeared from among the throng a moment later, crying out in relief at the sight of Yami and embracing him, even as he gave the lovely boy a puzzled look and automatically turned his head towards Bakura.  
  
"/Who . . . ?/" he asked bemusedly, and four more pairs of eyes turned towards the tomb robber.  
  
"/Goddess!/" the lovely boy gasped, eyes widening, and Bakura saw that his hair truly was white after all. "/You look just like-!/" A voice suddenly shouted above the crowd in Egyptian, interrupting him, and Bakura paled at the words.  
  
"/The auction is starting,/" he whispered even as the others' faces turned grim.  
  
"/Then let's end it, eh?/" the blond said lightly, though his eyes were cold and betrayed his tone. He tugged experimentally at the manacles around his wrists, scowling with displeasure at their strength.  
  
"/If you want . . . I'll pick the locks,/" Bakura offered quietly, though more to the white-haired boy than the blond.  
  
The former's eyes lit up. "/Could you really?!/" he asked excitedly, and if Bakura had held any hope of getting out of this without breaking any more laws than absolutely necessary, it all went straight to hell right then, along with his common sense and madly screaming survival instincts.  
  
"/Yeah,/" he said softly, and to his horror felt himself blushing even as his hands reached out and grabbed the other boy's manacles, a lock pick already out from behind his ear and in the mechanism. A sharp twist, and they popped open.  
  
"/Thank you!/" the white-haired boy cried, beaming at him and giving him a brief, grateful hug.  
  
His hair smelled like dust and sweat and roses.  
  
"/My name is Ryou,/" the boy said in an amiable sort of way even as Bakura shivered and moved on to dealing with the dark-haired girl, praying that his blush would be mistaken for sunburn. "/What's yours?/"  
  
"/Bakura, if you must know,/" he replied tersely as the girl's manacles followed the fate of the last pair, too embarrassed to maintain the quiet, gentle tones that he had held earlier. The other didn't even seem phased and just smiled brightly at him. Bakura gave the remaining soldiers a suspicious look. "/Any particular reason as to why the three of you together are wearing enough restraints to keep down half an army?/" he inquired coolly.  
  
The blonde laughed a bit nervously. "/Ah, we mighta killed a few guards,/" he said, voice sheepish.  
  
"/And perhaps we ruined a soul or two . . . /" Yami coughed delicately.  
  
"/And we definitely caused enough property damage to get whatever fool was in charge of guarding us executed twice over,/" the dark-haired boy added with a smug little smirk. "/The only reason that Anzu and Ryou aren't chained up just as much as we are is because they were still unconscious while we were at it./"  
  
"/Otherwise, we would've killed ALL of the Pharaoh's precious little guards,/" the girl- Anzu, he'd called her?- put in with a slightly feral grin of her own as she pulled out the chopsticks holding up her hair. It fell to just above her shoulders and sunlight glinted off the sticks' edges, making them look like needle-thin daggers.  
  
Oh wait. They WERE daggers.  
  
After that little trick, Bakura had no trouble believing that she and the lovely Ryou could kill him just fine on their own and went to work on the rest of the group, careful to stay away from any pockets or jewelry that might've concealed or been another hidden weapon.  
  
"/Thank you so much,/" Ryou said warmly as the last of the chains fell open, and it was so hard to see him as a soldier. "/Is there anything that we can do for you?/"  
  
"/We'll thank him properly when we get back home,/" Yami cut in, suddenly focused and razor-sharp- as if he hadn't been sharp enough before. "/For now, we need a plan./"  
  
"/My personal favorite: run like hell and don't get caught,/" Bakura advised with a smirk and a mocking salute, feeling a bit more like himself on such familiar ground. "/See ya, kids./"  
  
"/Wait, where are you going?/" Ryou asked, confusion in his eyes. Bakura would not let himself believe that he saw disappointment in those eyes as well.  
  
"Home," he replied in his mother tongue, and though Ryou and the dark- haired boy didn't seem to understand, the others clearly did.  
  
"You is an Egypt?!" Yami exclaimed in broken Egyptian.  
  
"Hai," Bakura affirmed with a slightly ironic smirk.  
  
"/What is it?/" Ryou asked with a slightly bemused frown.  
  
"/He's not a soldier,/" the blonde explained calmly. "/He's an Egyptian./"  
  
"/What?/" The dark-haired boy exclaimed. "But he looks nothing LIKE-/"  
  
"/Shut up!/" Bakura yelled at him and barely kept himself from lashing out at the other. A fight at this point, however, would draw attention that they really did not want.  
  
"/Honda-kun didn't mean anything bad by it, Bakura-san,/" Ryou said earnestly, eyes pleading. "/Don't be upset./"  
  
"/Just forget it,/" Bakura muttered, shoving away from the others.  
  
"/Wait, please!/" Ryou grabbed his arm and gave him an imploring look. "/Let me thank you, at least./"  
  
He gave the boy a dubious look. "/And just how do you intend to-/"  
  
Ryou kissed him. Just once, lightly on the cheek and so chastely that it wouldn't have satisfied a virgin.  
  
To Bakura, however . . .  
  
To Bakura, it was more than he could ever have hoped for.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. : review, like a good love slave : . 


	3. Of Dragons and Dogs

A/N: Updates are probably going to slow down now- I have a lot of other stories to be working on and some very pissed-off parents to deal with. God, I hate report cards.  
  
This chapter is only up so quickly because Sailor Comet wanted it, and we like her. She writes neat stuff. *cuddles the "Spoils" series* Plus, it was already half-finished anyway, so not exactly difficult to polish off. ^_^;;  
  
Sorry, still no lemon. But next chappie we get suicidal!Seto and psycho!Jounouchi! ^__^  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Of Dragons and Dogs"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The first thing they heard was the screams. Yuugi nearly jumped out of his skin, but Seto didn't even bother to look and see where they were coming from. The pharaoh tried, but couldn't tell amidst the sudden panic in the marketplace.  
  
"Find out what's going on!" Yuugi ordered the nearest guard.  
  
"Unnecessary," Seto murmured, eyes never moving from the spot in the crowd that they were focused upon. "Look over there, my lord. It's quite . . . interesting."  
  
Yuugi got a very bad feeling even as he followed his priest's single extended finger. The last time Seto had said something was "interesting", they had been in the middle of a disturbingly gory revolution and the priest himself had been scheduled for execution in about five minutes. True, the statue he had been commenting on HAD been lovely, but they were getting dragged off to be butchered at the time, so the young pharaoh had not really seen the point.  
  
So when he saw what Seto was indicating, he was rather surprised, to say the least.  
  
It was a boy, darting easily through the panicking crowd. Nothing more, nothing less, and probably around their own age; muscular and rather attractive, with the strangely light hair that many of the enemy's soldiers seemed to have and by default clearly one of the captives. There was nothing really remarkable about him, saving the bloodstains on his face and chest. He was good as dead if he had a wound that had bled that much anyway- although it was strange that he could still move so quickly.  
  
Then the boy slit the throats of the two guards converging on him in one fluid motion, and it occurred to Yuugi that the aforementioned blood might not necessarily be HIS.  
  
"Very interesting," Seto murmured as the blond tore off for the streets, and Yuugi barely repressed a shudder. The taller man got to his feet and said one simple phrase, his tone deceptively nonchalant:  
  
"Blue Eyes White Dragon, attack."  
  
From the high priest's hand came something neither magical nor physical- it was both and neither, if anything, and with all the impossibility therein implied- and over the marketplace, a gleaming silver dragon came into being with an almighty roar.  
  
And from the suddenly silent crowd came the answering roar of, "Red Eyes Black Dragon!" and Yuugi was shocked to recognize its source as the bloody blonde, who had stopped in his tracks immediately upon recognizing a challenger.  
  
That easily, Seto's Blue Eyes had an opponent, even as Seto himself leapt from the pharaoh's balcony and landed in a crouch, catlike in the square. Then he started to run.  
  
Yuugi watched in disbelief as the priest forced his way through the crowd towards the blonde, pulling a pair of stiletto knives that he was definitely not allowed to carry when alone with the pharaoh out from under his arms. Still, Yuugi couldn't help his fascination even as Seto and the blonde collided, knives dancing with speed that would've shamed a dervish as the dragons screamed overhead and mirrored their masters' little war.  
  
This was just too much. Seto didn't fight; he was too . . . well, for lack of a better term, "prissy." He considered any kind of brawling to be beneath him, and just getting him to let the country declare war was enough to make any ruler seriously consider life as an ostrich farmer. Even the Shadow Games bored him more often than not.  
  
Then again, it wasn't often that they found an opponent who could last against him. And this blonde was doing more than lasting- he was winning.  
  
In the air above the duo, the dragons fought undirected and more violently than in any battle Yuugi had yet seen. The slaves in the marketplace were all oddly silent, watching the priest and blonde's battle with bated breath. Something gave the pharaoh the uneasy feeling that this boy was in the perfect position to start another one of those darned "revolutions."  
  
Yes, that would be bad.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
~ * ~ * ~ * ~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Bakura couldn't decide whether he was really pissed off or deliriously happy. He was leading Yami and Ryou towards a safe house he knew (gods knew where the other three had gotten off to), and Ryou was holding his hand. Willingly. As in, he had taken Bakura's hand, and not the other way around.  
  
"/Bakura-san,/" Ryou began breathlessly, "/is it much farther?/"  
  
Happy. Definitely happy.  
  
"/Just a little,/" he replied softly, automatically tightening his grip on the other's hand for a moment.  
  
"You do anything stupid, baka Egypt, I make dead," Yami informed him in his thick accent, a subtle threat still detectable in his broken tones. Ryou gave him a reproachful look, understanding said tones if not the language itself.  
  
"/Play nice,/" he warned as Bakura simultaneously suggested that the pharaoh's look-alike, "/Fuck off./" Ryou's look was turned on the thief, who melted like butter at high noon.  
  
"/Where are you taking us?/" Yami demanded for at least the third time.  
  
"/Somewhere safe,/" Bakura replied for at least the third time. Ryou chuckled; Yami growled.  
  
And the Blue Eyes White Dragon spun into existence above the marketplace they had just left.  
  
"/That's not Katsuya's dragon . . . /" Yami said in faint confusion.  
  
The Red Eyes appeared a moment later with a challenging scream.  
  
"/That is,/" Ryou mumbled, wincing.  
  
"/Gods DAMN!/" Yami cursed, and would've run back if Ryou hadn't caught his arm.  
  
"Baka!" he yelled. "/You go back, you're as good as caught and sold! Katsuya-sama said to stay split up, remember?!/"  
  
"/But he needs us!/" Yami cried desperately, trying to pull away.  
  
"/Sure as hell doesn't look like that from here,/" Bakura muttered, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the black dragon thrashing the white.  
  
"/Eep,/" Ryou squeaks, his eyes widening. "/Katsuya-sama never told us that his dragon could do THAT . . . /"  
  
"/What a man./" Bakura spared a moment to whistle appreciatively and then reclaimed Ryou's hand and started back towards the safe house.  
  
"/Bakura-san, you're bleeding,/" Ryou realized suddenly.  
  
"/Just a scratch,/" Bakura assured him, hardly even bothering to glance at the scrape across his palm. He'd cut it when one of his lockpicks had popped out of the blonde's chains. Those had been a bitch to undo, he recalled, slightly sourly.  
  
"/That's not the problem, baka!/" Yami snapped. "/How long?!/"  
  
"/Eh?/" Bakura gave him a strange look.  
  
"/He means, how long have you been hurt?/" Ryou clarified gently, taking Bakura's wounded hand in his free one.  
  
Bakura tried not to blush. He was a professional thief, dammit, not some village virgin! A scary, sexy tomb robber with a roguish smirk and-  
  
"/Bakura-san? How long?/" Ryou pressed.  
  
- a tendency to blush like a preteen on his first crush.  
  
"/When I opened the blonde's manacles, my pick broke,/" Bakura replied quietly, not meeting the other boy's eyes. He suddenly felt like a disobedient puppy. "/I'm sorry,/" he added, not sure why he was apologizing.  
  
"/No, it isn't your fault,/" Ryou told him. "/You didn't know it was important./"  
  
"/And is it important?/" Bakura asked dubiously.  
  
"/Only a bit,/" Yami snorted. Bakura favored him with a glare.  
  
"/It's just . . . Katsuya,/" Ryou said uncertainly. "/If they catch him, he'll hunt us. And if you're bleeding all over like that, and if his deck caught a whiff of your blood . . . Well, he has some monsters that are very good at tracking. And I mean GOOD./"  
  
"/I thought he was your friend?/" Bakura raised an eyebrow at the other. Not that that meant much when the other choice was torture, he supposed.  
  
Yami choked. "/Friends? With him?!/" he gasped. "/Are you insane?!/"  
  
"/Shut UP, Yami-kun!/" Ryou hissed. Bakura got the feeling that he was missing something important, but let it pass. "/Anyway,/" Ryou turned back to Bakura, "/the thing is, Katsuya is generally a good person, and yeah, I guess you could call us 'friends', but if somebody actually beats him . . . well . . . /"  
  
"/He rolls over like a fucking dog,/" Yami cut in flatly.  
  
Ryou moaned. "/Yami-kun!/"  
  
"/It's the truth!/" Yami snapped. "/I don't like it any better than you!/"  
  
"/Somehow, I can't see it,/" Bakura said, shrugging slightly. "/Nor can I bring myself to care. If he DOES come after us, I'll kill him./"  
  
Yami burst out laughing. "/I'd love to see you try, thief!/" he crowed.  
  
"/Who said I was a thief?/" Bakura snorted.  
  
"/What else would be as stupid as you?/" Yami retorted sourly. "/Not to mention, carry so many lockpicks?/"  
  
"/Oh, fuck off,/" Bakura snapped. Ryou moved up closer against him, and the tomb robber's pulse quickened slightly.  
  
"/Bakura-san, we really should get going,/" he said. "/Katsuya is very efficient . . . and I've heard things about the warriors here . . . /"  
  
"/Mostly, they're lies,/" Bakura told him.  
  
"/True. But I notice that you said 'mostly'/," Ryou replied dryly, giving the other a mildly exasperated look.  
  
Bakura laughed, delighted, and on impulse reached into his pocket. "/Would you accept this?/" he inquired, removing the silver armband he'd stolen from the pyramid and showing it to Ryou.  
  
Ryou gave it a thoughtful look. "/Where'd you get it?/" he asked.  
  
Bakura just smirked at him.  
  
"/Stupid question,/" Ryou muttered, but took it anyway.  
  
"/You two are disgusting./" Yami grimaced. "/He's a thief, for gods' sakes, Ryou-kun. And an idiot./"  
  
"/But he's got a nice ass and gives me jewelry,/" Ryou countered brightly, sliding the armband on. Bakura turned literally crimson.  
  
"/I take it back; you're BOTH idiots and you probably deserve each other,/" Yami grumbled.  
  
As much as Bakura appreciated the thought, he knew there was no way he could ever deserve Ryou.  
  
Fortunately for their relationship, the other boy was a great deal less inhibited and already quite cheerfully plotting the best way to get him in bed. Yami recognized the gleam in Ryou's eyes and, with a long-suffering sigh, dragged both boys forward.  
  
"/Aren't we there yet?/" he asked in disgust.  
  
"/Actually, you just passed it,/" Bakura informed him, unable to repress a smirk.  
  
Yami just groaned. "/Gods DAMN I hate this country./"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. : review, dammit : . 


	4. Dying In Egypt

A/N: I cannot believe that I am updating this already. -_-;; This is totally the fault of (yet again) Sailor Comet, Saraha, Callisto Firestarter, Blue Lagoon Loon, Kakarots-Frying-Pan, Kitsune Hashiba, and Chibi-chan. If I didn't love them for the feedback, I'd kill them for getting me into this. *appeals to rest of audience* I'm trying to finish my other fics, and these meanies all reviewed and inspired me to write in this one again! ;_; I have homework, darn you!  
  
Anyway, for those of you who came in here through my profile and ignored the rating, this fic is "R." Not yet, admittedly, but we start dealing with things like sex and probably gore soon. So don't read it if ya can't deal. I've got three younger siblings; I don't need any more virgin eyes to corrupt.  
  
Interesting fact before you read: Set was the god of homosexuality. Kinda makes you wonder what Kazuki-sensei had in mind when he named Seto after him, doesn't it. ^_~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Dying In Egypt"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Seto was enthralled.  
  
The blonde was beautiful. Completely and utterly beautiful. A mere soldier, true, but master to a Red Eyes Black Dragon, and so brave that he would call it out against one of the infamous Blue Eyes! So brave that he would fight against that same dragon's owner by putting his cheap nicked blade against a pair of stilettos carved by an elite smith!  
  
And on top of it all, he actually had the upper hand.  
  
It was too glorious for words. It was better than magic, better than the Shadow Games, better than the feeling that came when strung up between this world and the afterlife. It was beyond perfect.  
  
And Seto wanted more.  
  
"You're fucking fantastic," he informed the blonde in a light, conversational tone that he had never had use for with anyone but the pharaoh.  
  
"And you're fucking gorgeous," the blonde replied with a quicksilver grin as he caught the arm holding one stiletto and parried the other with his own knife. Seto nearly died of euphoric shock right there.  
  
This was beyond wonderful.  
  
And if he was really lucky, the blonde might even kill him.  
  
"You're a really pretty boy," the blonde purred, grinning at him. "What's your name?"  
  
"Seto," the priest replied, slightly breathless.  
  
"Mm." The blonde smiled languidly and twisted his arms to trap Seto's hands between his. "I like that name. Can I call you Seto-koi?"  
  
"What does 'koi' mean?" Seto asked with a slight frown, breaking the other's hold and leaping back out of the range of his dagger.  
  
The blonde giggled. "Loosely? It means 'lover.'"  
  
Hearing the translation, Seto promptly tripped over his own feet and fell straight onto his back.  
  
The blonde giggled again and drove his knife into the priest's stomach.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
~ * ~ * ~ * ~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"/Ba- Bakura-san!/" Ryou gasped, staring at the shop in awe. "/This is your safe house? It's absolutely gorgeous!/"  
  
"/Are you kidding me?/" Yami asked flatly, glaring at their cluttered surroundings. "/It's a junk heap, Ryou-kun./" Ryou ignored him in favor of a cluster of gold chains and amulets hanging from the ceiling.  
  
Technically, both of them were right- the place was a mess, but the mess was made up of beautiful jewelry and brightly painted pottery and statuettes. It was a true artisan's workplace- the only thing that mattered was the art itself, and not the arrangement or the cleanliness of the shop. Still, each piece was polished mirror-bright and obviously well looked-after.  
  
"/Lovely,/" Ryou breathed, wide eyes falling on a particularly stunning jewel.  
  
"/And it doesn't bother you in the least that you could feed a family of seven with that for the rest of their mortal lives?/" Yami inquired sourly. Again, Ryou ignored him.  
  
"/Bakura-san, who made all this?/" he asked. "/Do you know?/"  
  
"/A friend,/" Bakura replied dismissively, closing the shop's door behind them. "/He owns this place. He's pretty odd, but he's not bad for an artist./"  
  
"/Oh?/" Ryou's pleasant expression suddenly became slightly forced. "/A 'friend,' you say?/"  
  
"/He's got a bitch, Ryou, and it's not me,/" Bakura reassured him, hiding a pleased smirk behind his hand.  
  
"/Did I ask?/" Ryou replied innocently, batting his eyelashes and then suddenly grinning wolfishly. "/So, you are definitely not attached, then. And no prospects?/"  
  
"/Well . . ./" Bakura began slowly, pulling a thoughtful face. "/There is this one rather attractive young man with a thing for jewelry and a much-appreciated opinion of my ass . . ./"  
  
Ryou grinned again. "/Oh, you ARE good,/" he said in amusement, sliding up closer to the thief.  
  
"/Would you two get a room?!/" Yami bellowed, glaring at them.  
  
"/Could we?/" Ryou asked hopefully. Bakura blushed.  
  
"/Maybe later,/" he mumbled, threading his fingers in with Ryou's. Ryou gave him another smile.  
  
"/I like that idea,/" he whispered into Bakura's ear, taking the opportunity to press a kiss to the other boy's jawline. Bakura blushed again and Ryou chuckled. "/Isn't he so cute, Yami- kun?/" he asked brightly. "/See, I told you that this place wasn't so bad./"  
  
"/I will believe that when I get laid and no sooner,/" Yami retorted flatly from the other side of the room, where he was inspecting an elaborately-carved statuette of the god Set. "/Which one is this? I can never keep track of you people's damned gods./"  
  
"/Set, the lord of the northern sky,/" Bakura recited with an annoyed sigh. "/The God of Chaos who embodies hostility, who killed his brother Osiris the god of the dead, and is our beloved High Priest's chosen lord./"  
  
"/Your High Priest?/" Ryou's smile turned sly. "/Ah, I've heard of HIM. They call him the 'Whore of the Gods,' don't they? A human so beautiful that the gods strike down any who dare to try and enter his bed in their jealousy./"  
  
"/Don't tell me that you actually believe rumors like that,/" Bakura said in exasperation. "/The High Priest is just a cold fish./"  
  
"/Of course I don't, Bakura-san!/" Ryou replied with a laugh. "/I just think that it's a good 'bedtime' story./" Bakura didn't miss the infliction on the word "bedtime"- not that it would've mattered if he had, as Ryou had quite cheerfully sprawled over the nearest table in a blatantly sexual pose. Again, the thief found himself blushing. There was something strange about Ryou- he'd never felt quite like this before, and he'd seen far more provocative people than the soldier.  
  
It was just . . . Ryou's flirtations, he wanted to accept because of the person giving them, and not so much the body.  
  
Not to say, of course, that the boy wasn't absolutely fucking gorgeous, but that was beside the point.  
  
"/So- what now?/" Yami asked after a moment.  
  
"/We wait for the owner and I get a fat chunk of change off him by selling . . . something,/" Bakura replied, remembering halfway through that statement that he'd already given Ryou the armband he'd originally been planning to sell. What did that even leave? True, he still had money left over from the ankh and earrings, but he'd have liked some sort of backup, just to be safe.  
  
Well . . . there WAS "it."  
  
"/When's he coming?/" Ryou inquired curiously, tilting his head slightly.  
  
Bakura just shrugged. "/I'll tell you when he gets here,/" he said, internally deciding to sell "it." After all, it'd fetch a nice amount. They could use the money.  
  
Still . . .  
  
The gods were not going to be happy.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. : please review, effendi! : . 


	5. Kiss of the Wild Soldier

A/N: One of these days I really AM going to work on something besides this fic. Honest. But you all know whose fault it is I'm updating this soon by now. Actually, I'd have had it up sooner, but then I decided that the last scene was too short and waited 'til I could think of a way to lengthen it. Now, for those of you who have expressed concerns about the state of my other works . . .  
  
Part six of "This Time Around"- I am a page in and temporarily stuck.  
  
Part ten of "Strangers With Familiar Faces"- Again, I have one page and am otherwise stuck.  
  
Part twelve of "The Skin I'm In"- I have nothing. ^_^;;  
  
Part six of "Things Worth Dying For"- Again, I have nothing.  
  
Meanwhile, "Love You Only" and "A Digital Fairy Tale" are being typed up but still need a great deal of editing. Don't even ask about "Slayers REGAL," "Thinking of You Again," or "The Responsibility of Seeing In the Dark." *grimace* I would appreciate any help that anyone has to offer in regards to any of these, whether it be plot ideas or something as simple as an art site that you think might inspire me. Just having someone to bounce ideas off can be a tremendous help.  
  
There, I think that's all of them.  
  
Also, one of the reviewers didn't know this, so just to make sure that you all do: the "kun" suffix is used for boys, and "chan" for girls. Attached to the first name, these are typically signs of friendship or a romantic relationship. "Kun" may be used for a boy who is younger than you or who you are disrespecting (assuming that you are not friends), and some teachers will call all of their students "kun," regardless of gender. Sometimes a boy may be called "chan," but this is only for very young children, or if trying to imply that the person you are speaking to is extremely immature or extremely close to you. "San" is a term of respect- something like "sir" or "Mr." in English, though that's a very loose translation. "Sama" is another term of respect, but more like "Milord." Again, though, this is a relatively loose translation. Suffixes may be dropped to show either a lack of respect or the sort of closeness that comes from, say, going to Hell and back with a person.  
  
Whew, that took a bit. This is kinda vague, too. *prods Author's Note From Hell* Is that enough info?  
  
Any more questions, minna-kun? Then review and ask me! ^_~  
  
"Egyptian." "/Japanese./" Beware a few (very) loose translations. :b  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Kiss of the Wild Soldier"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Is it to much to ask that I get through one day without reaffirming my hatred of everything that I supposedly stand for?" Yuugi asked the nearest mural wearily. The artwork refused to answer, and Yuugi unhappily returned his attention to the motionless body of the young man that had been dropped before him by a small group of guardsmen. "This one is the leader, then?" he asked finally.  
  
The guards shifted uneasily.  
  
"Not exactly, my lord," the foremost guard replied, clearly nervous.  
  
"Meaning, of course, that he was just the first one that you could get your hands on," Yuugi said flatly. The guards flinched. The pharaoh groaned in annoyance and squatted down on his haunches in front of the other boy.  
  
The guards gasped in horror at the sight of the pharaoh sitting lower than them and dropped to the ground as well. Yuugi just ignored them- he was more than used to it.  
  
"Oi," he drawled in the street version of the soldier's tongue, snapping his fingers over the other's head and mentally bracing himself to pull off an act as a more abrasive and, hopefully, more threatening person. He was kind at heart, but not naïve enough to think that he could earn a soldier's respect with sweet words. "/Get up, asshole. I know you aren't really unconscious./"  
  
The soldier's head jerked up, his expression startled at the sound of someone speaking a familiar language. When his eyes focused on Yuugi, his face immediately went dead white.  
  
"Ya-Yami-kun?!" he sputtered in disbelief.  
  
"/Nope; name's Yuugi,/" the pharaoh informed him bluntly, leaning forward so that they were nose-to-nose. "/Gimme yours, brat./"  
  
"Honda," the soldier replied in a cautious tone, his eyes already drifting towards the kneeling guardsmen. "/What the hell are you supposed to be, kid, some kind of fucking inquisitor?/"  
  
Yuugi sniggered. "/No, I'm the fucking pharaoh,/" he said with a smirk.  
  
"/Very funny,/" Honda retorted dryly, clearly not believing him. "/Am I allowed up yet?/"  
  
"/Depends./" Yuugi shrugged and leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers before himself. "/You know a lanky blonde; fights with a knife?/"  
  
"/Oh, THAT'S not too vague,/" Honda snorted, rolling his eyes. "/Half of my men fit that description./"  
  
"/He's also the Red Eyes' master,/" Yuugi added with another smirk.  
  
"/ . . . oh,/" Honda said weakly, swallowing hard. "/THAT blonde./"  
  
"/Uh-huh,/" Yuugi agreed, smirk deepening. "/My high priest ran off after him. Knowing Seto, he'll come back in a month or so with a handful of souvenirs from the other side of the country and a sickeningly cheerful disposition that'll take weeks to wear off, which is pretty damn scary on him. I'd rather not have that happen if I can prevent it, so tell me: who is that blonde and how do I kill him?/"  
  
"/Fuck off, kid,/" Honda snarled. "/I don't sell out friends, especially not to self-righteous little bastards like you./"  
  
"/Oh, I like you!/" Yuugi cried happily, eyes sparkling with genuine delight as he leaned back on his heels and clapped his hands together. "/Okay, I've decided./"  
  
"/Decided what?/" Honda asked, confused.  
  
Too late- Yuugi was already in his infamous "ignore-the-outside- world"-mode. The guardsmen simultaneously cringed upon recognizing it. It tended to lead to troublesome things, like new taxes and cultural shock.  
  
Yuugi hopped to his feet and cheerfully exclaimed, "Sugoi, Honda- kun! You will be my lovely tenshi-seer's new slave, ne?"  
  
Honda just stared blankly at him, understanding none of the Egyptian words and getting no sense out of the ones in his own tongue. ". . . nani?" he inquired finally. Yuugi just beamed at him.  
  
"My pharaoh!" one of the guards exclaimed. "You can't possibly intend to give this- this brute to the seer! He could harm her! He should be executed for his crimes, or sold to someone at the market!"  
  
"I don't see why." Yuugi shrugged lightly. "He's an excellent specimen, and an officer too- dear Isis can't complain. She's probably already seen him coming and is warming her bed," he added with a mischievous wink. The guards just whimpered in slightly stupefied horror. They would've rather had the taxes.  
  
"/You scare me,/" Honda muttered. "/I don't even know what you're saying, and you still scare me./"  
  
"Ah, arigato, Honda-kun!" Yuugi laughed, nodding to the other. "/I am honored by your kind words!/"  
  
As Honda shook his head in exasperation, Yuugi internally cheered. This was, at last, an interesting person! A person who wasn't afraid to speak his own mind, even to his captors!  
  
He had never actually intended to kill the blonde, but now he was wondering if they could keep him. Assuming Seto brought him back alive- if all the soldiers were like this, he just had to meet more! They were amazing!  
  
And privately, he reflected that he wouldn't mind meeting one of those female fighters he had seen in the ranks either.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
~ * ~ * ~ * ~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Seto was not happy. True, he was bleeding quite a bit, which was nice. But the beautiful boy who'd MADE him bleed was nowhere in sight.  
  
He had actually escaped. Slipped past Seto's guard and stabbed him, then abandoned his own knife and stolen the priest's stilettos. And that had been fine- that had been GOOD! Except that, instead of finishing him off, the blonde had left. Just dashed off like he wasn't right in the middle of a minor war, and recalled his Red Eyes to go with him!  
  
Seto silently reminded himself that his feelings were NOT hurt because the pretty boy didn't want to come out and play with him and finally withdrew the Blue Eyes White Dragon from the sky with a defeated sigh. What a waste- he had wanted so badly to keep fighting! The priest felt like he could've fought forever as long as it was with an opponent like that.  
  
He hadn't even gotten his name. At that moment, he would've cheerfully hacked his own arm open from wrist to elbow with a blunt chisel if it meant that the blonde's name would be reflected in the blood. Suicidal Seto might be, but he was not fond of pain.  
  
So in the end, he was left to sulk back towards the palace, feeling rather let down and slightly dizzy from blood loss.  
  
"Stupid boy," he mumbled sourly as he paused by an alley to catch his breath and ended up falling over.  
  
"I missed you too," the blonde said with a laugh, appearing from the alleyway and catching him.  
  
"You came back?" Seto tipped his head back and blinked up at him. "Why?"  
  
"I forgot to give you my name, baka!" the blonde replied, laughing again. "You didn't expect me to be that rude, did you, Seto-koi?"  
  
"Yes," Seto retorted flatly. The blonde gave him a guilty grin.  
  
"Well, I'm not," he declared. "My name is Jounouchi. It's nice to meet you."  
  
"Likewise," Seto returned, nodding slightly.  
  
"So, wanna go somewhere?" Jounouchi glanced up and down the street.  
  
"What for?" Seto gave him an odd look.  
  
"So you can buy me dinner before I put out," Jounouchi replied with a wide grin. "That's the polite way to do it."  
  
The priest gave him a dubious look. "Perhaps I could go see a surgeon first?" he suggested dryly. "Just for kicks."  
  
"Better than bleeding all over the restaurant," Jounouchi agreed cheerfully. "And I dunno about you, but I personally find gore to be something of a mood-killer."  
  
"You're a very blatant person," Seto observed with a faint frown. "I don't meet many people like you."  
  
"Really?" The soldier tipped his head to the side. "Well, fair's fair, I guess- I don't meet many people like you. Well, Yami-kun is, kinda, but you seem a little crazy- no offense. But he's actually pretty grounded, if a bit of a mother hen."  
  
"Who is Yami-kun?" Seto asked with only polite curiosity.  
  
Jounouchi scowled slightly. "I'm . . . not sure," he confessed slowly. "He's Egyptian, but he's lived in the palace ever since I can remember. He's our best general," he added a moment later. "I was always a bit jealous of him, to be honest, but I do think of him as a friend. Dunno what he thinks of me, though."  
  
"You're friends with your general?" The priest looked skeptical.  
  
"Yeah- gods, was my father pissed when he found out," Jounouchi chuckled. "'Course, that was mostly 'cause he caught us in bed together."  
  
Seto smirked at him. "Sleeping your way up?"  
  
Jounouchi blinked in surprise, seeming genuinely startled by the question. "Eh- why-?" He stared at Seto for a moment; then frowned again and shook his head, as if to clear it. "No. No, it wasn't about that. It just . . . was."  
  
"Did you love him?" the priest questioned.  
  
"Of course," Jounouchi replied, shrugging slightly. "Still do. But never really like that."  
  
"Ah, the joys of casual sex," Seto drawled, leaning back against the wall.  
  
"Gods, no." Jounouchi winced. "Never casual. With people that I don't love, yes- but never casual."  
  
" . . . Why aren't we trying to kill each other anymore?" Seto asked after a brief silence.  
  
"Because I'm just that charming?" Jounouchi guessed, smiling at him. Seto rolled his eyes. "Okay, maybe not," he amended, stretching slightly. "I'm kind of tired now, though. Bed sound good?"  
  
"Where did you plan on sleeping?" Seto looked exasperated. "You'll freeze out here."  
  
"I know- you have some extremely fucked-up weather in this country," Jounouchi agreed gloomily, disposition turning a one- eighty. "I miss snow."  
  
Seto's eyebrows furrowed together. "What's that?"  
  
The soldier laughed. "I'll tell you sometime," he promised. "If you're ever there, I'll even make you a snowman. He'll be hot, too- uh, but that's kinda a contradiction . . . " He laughed again, sheepishly scratching his cheek.  
  
"Sounds interesting anyway," Seto remarked, smirking slightly.  
  
"Good." Jounouchi flashed him a grin. "Glad you think so, Seto- sama."  
  
The priest paused, confused. " . . . 'sama'?" he repeated uncertainly. "I don't really know your language, but doesn't that mean something like 'Master'?"  
  
"Kinda," Jounouchi said carefully. "'Cause you beat me."  
  
"I was under the impression that you were the victor," Seto said dryly.  
  
"Didn't mean the fight," Jounouchi told him. "I know I won that. But you won my interest, so . . . you'll be Seto-sama. I like saying it anyway."  
  
"Why?" The priest cocked an eyebrow in curiosity.  
  
"Because it's nice to think that someone else is going to deal with the world," the soldier replied, closing his eyes. "Just for a little while, though. 'Cause, y'know, I still have to find the you-know-whats."  
  
"I figured you would," Seto said, standing up straight again. "Come on. Let's go home."  
  
Jounouchi smiled at him. "But where is home?" he asked.  
  
Seto paused. "Point," he admitted. "I don't really have one. I usually sleep at the palace, though."  
  
"That works," Jounouchi said brightly. "Gonna feed me?"  
  
"If you insist." Seto sighed. "Honestly, you're like a dog. 'Feed me, scrap with me, pet me.'"  
  
"Ooo, I LIKE that last idea!" the blonde exclaimed. "But food first, 'kay? I'm better after I've eaten."  
  
Seto blushed. "I didn't need to know that," he muttered.  
  
"Yes you did," Jounouchi countered, grinning wickedly.  
  
"Pervert," the priest snorted.  
  
"Like you aren't up for it." Jounouchi snickered. "Hentai."  
  
"That is quite beside the point," Seto informed him. "And don't call me names you don't intend to translate."  
  
"Yes, hentai-sama!" Jounouchi bowed deeply to hide his grin.  
  
Seto groaned in exasperation and pulled him along. "Come on," he ordered. "I still need to get this looked at."  
  
"I pulled my strike," Jounouchi told him. "It shouldn't be too bad."  
  
Seto stopped in his tracks to stare at the other. "You . . . pulled it? Why? You should've killed me then- I'm your enemy."  
  
Jounouchi gave him a gentle smile. "Iie," he told him softly, shaking his head. "Daisuki da, Seto-chan. Soreirai zutto- warenagara. Kuchidzukeru watashi? Onegai?"  
  
The priest just kept staring, and seriously wished that he'd learned the soldier's tongue when he'd had the chance. He had the feeling that he would really want to know what that had meant before long.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
. : review- it does a ba good : . 


	6. War Paint on the Ceiling

A/N: Sorry this took me a while, guys. I've been (and still am) quite grounded and haven't had much time to work on my writing, much less to post. But it's nice and long today!  
  
By the by, for the curious- that lovely little spurt of Japanese from Jounouchi at the end of the last chappie WILL be translated later (approximately, at least), but for now it is just a loose thread of the plot. Say it with me kids: SEX! Er, I mean . . . "foreshadowing!" ^_^;;  
  
Warnings: If you haven't grasped the presence of yaoi, violence, and clearly looming lemon in this fic yet, then I have nothing to say to you- except maybe a recommendation to work on your reading comprehension.  
  
*prods the fic* The formatting is screwed up. T-T  
  
"Egyptian."  
  
"/Not Egyptian./" ^__~  
  
"War Paint on the Ceiling"  
  
"Bakura-chan, Bakura-chan!" a voice shouted. Ryou and Yami nearly fell off the counter. "Bakura-chan, are you here?!"  
  
"/Who the hell-?!/" Yami demanded as the shop's front door slammed open and in bounded a hyperactive young man wearing a wild grin.  
  
"BAKURA-CHAN!" the man literally squealed, tackling Ryou around the waist. Ryou yelped and they both went down like a sack of lead.  
  
"/Yami-kun, HELP!/" he hissed, grabbing the other's ankle in a death grip. Yami delicately extracted said ankle from his friend's grasp, smiling sweetly down at him. "/Bastard,/" Ryou growled as the boy atop him nuzzled in deeper.  
  
"Bakura-chan, I missed you!" the boy cried gleefully in lightly accented Egyptian. "I haven't seen you in months! I'm so glad you're back!"  
  
"/Yami-kun!/" Ryou wailed desperately. "/Help me!/"  
  
"Oh Ra, what in HELL are you doing?!" Bakura shouted as he came downstairs, rushing forward and yanking the leech off Ryou's stomach.  
  
"/Bakura-san!/" Ryou cried in relief, attaching himself to the other's waist and doing a pretty damn good imitation of a leech himself. "/Thank the gods, you're back!/"  
  
"/Hello again, Ryou,/" Bakura replied, pretending not to be blushing. "And as for you . . . " He glared at the boy in his hands.  
  
"Wai! Bakura-chan!" the boy repeated gleefully, twisting to glomp onto the other boy's arm. He was darkly tanned and had the soldiers' famous blonde hair, though burnt almost white. He was obviously not a native of Egypt, but had just as obviously lived there for years and moved with all the confidence and arrogance of a local.  
  
He was also, interestingly enough, wearing nothing but a half- sheer white loincloth and gold chain-link belt and anklets, a fact which Bakura duly noted and Ryou would've if he hadn't been creeped out by the psychotically wide grin worn with them.  
  
"You look particularly female today, Ishtar," Bakura remarked dryly. "What's the occasion?"  
  
"Delivering a very special piece to the palace," Ishtar replied smugly, kissing the other's cheek. "One of your designs, love."  
  
"Who this?" Yami demanded sourly, grabbing Bakura's arm and glaring at him. "He call you 'love'!"  
  
"Um, yikes?" Ishtar's eyes widened as he seemed to properly notice Yami for the first time. "Bakura-chan, he looks EXACTLY like-"  
  
"Do NOT remind me," Bakura interrupted tightly, clapping a hand over the blonde's mouth. "Ishtar, this is Yami. Yami, Ishtar. He's the artist who made all this crap, and don't piss him off because he owns the shop, not me."  
  
"I also own him!" Ishtar chirped, grinning wickedly. "He is my sexy bitch!"  
  
"Shut up," Bakura growled. "I bought myself back from you, and you know it."  
  
"Technically you can't do that," Ishtar told Yami in a stage whisper, "but I let him 'cause he's really pretty and has, like, the nicest ass EVER."  
  
"You know I can hear you, bastard," Bakura growled.  
  
"Bakura-san . . .?" Ryou whispered hesitantly, tugging slightly on the other boy's arm. "/Bakura-san, what's going on?/" The sudden hesitancy seemed unlike him, and Bakura was momentarily confused until he remembered that the other spoke no Egyptian.  
  
"/Oh, Ryou, I'm sorry!/" he cried, automatically turning to the boy and taking his hands. "/I forgot- I didn't mean- I'm sorry! Please don't be angry, I didn't mean to neglect you!/"  
  
"/No, it's okay, I understand,/" the other said quickly. "/It's just . . . I feel weird not knowing what people are saying. With the slavers . . . it was like that./"  
  
"/I'm sorry,/" Bakura repeated miserably, silently wishing a thousand curses upon his own head. "/It was stupid of me./"  
  
"Oh, how cute," Ishtar giggled. "Bakura has a sweetheart."  
  
"You shut mouth, freak boy," Yami snapped protectively.  
  
"You're so mean." Ishtar stuck his tongue out at the other. "Bakura-chan, your friend is a bitch." He grinned. "I like him. But I really have to get to work again- I have a piece to make for the High Priest; he commissioned it months ago, and I hate to think what'll happen if he remembers that before I finish it."  
  
"/Oh? What kind of a piece?/" Ryou's interest was immediately peaked by Bakura's translation.  
  
Ishtar beamed as Bakura again acted as go-between. "A collar," he said happily. "For a slave."  
  
Ryou paled slightly. He knew THAT word.  
  
"/You don't understand,/" Bakura told him softly. "/The High Priest- the one they call 'The Gods' Whore,' you know? He's never been touched, never been fucked. They say no mortal can have him- he's only for the gods' divine hands. It's bullshit, but the nobles like to gossip about it. And this collar is the mark of not a slave, but a pet./"  
  
"/Or, in lay men's terms, the collar is for him, right?/" Yami cut in, exasperated. "/To show that he is the gods'./"  
  
"Hey, you're talking over my head again," Ishtar complained.  
  
"Oh, shut up." Bakura glared at him.  
  
"You no understand Japanese?" Yami gave the artisan a strange look. "But you speak accent like Japan child!"  
  
"Ishtar was purchased by the former owners of this shop to be their apprentice," Bakura explained. "He was stolen from a Japanese trader when he was still a child, but he's forgotten most of the tongue."  
  
"The accent always stuck, though," Ishtar added with a slight shrug while Bakura repeated a summary of the conversation in Japanese for Ryou's benefit. "I don't really know why- stubborn habit, I guess."  
  
"Or stubborn idiocy," Bakura added sourly.  
  
Ishtar grinned guiltily. "Maybe," he allowed with an offhanded wave. "But that's besides the point."  
  
"And point is being . . .?" Yami inquired flatly.  
  
"There has to be a point?" Ishtar blinked at him.  
  
"Stop it NOW," Bakura warned them both, pushing Ishtar back.  
  
"Oh, go screw your new boyfriend," Ishtar scoffed, ducking out of his grasp and coming up next to Yami. "This one and I are going to have a little talk." He grabbed Yami by the hand and headed back out the door.  
  
"Oi!" Yami cried in surprise. "What you doing, hiretsukan?!"  
  
"Don't cuss at me," Ishtar ordered sharply, and then grinned at Bakura. "Try not to annoy the neighbors with the screaming, ne?"  
  
"Not funny!" Bakura yelled, throwing one of the many pots at the other boy's head. He caught it easily.  
  
"Sankyuu, Bakura-chan," he cooed. "Come along, Yami-san, let's get water from the well."  
  
"Is you crazy?!" Yami yelled. "I get captured if go out!"  
  
"Actually, if you act like you belong, the guards won't even look twice at you," Ishtar replied with a faint shrug. "They'll just assume you're another slave, and to be honest probably won't even notice you at all unless you cause a ruckus."  
  
"But I-!" Yami began again, scrabbling desperately at the table for purchase.  
  
Too late- Ishtar was out the door and still dragging him along.  
  
Bakura repressed what would've been a rather sadistic smirk in favor of picking up the jewelry that Yami had knocked off the table and restoring it to something resembling its former "order."  
  
"/So,/" Ryou said. "/he seemed . . . interesting./"  
  
Bakura snorted. "/You could say that. He's insane, really, but he was . . . when I was . . . he never . . . Agh!/" he fumed, clearly frustrated- partially by his inability to get the words out, and partially by his sudden memory that he hadn't sold "it" to Ishtar yet.  
  
"/When you were his slave, he was good to you, right?/" Ryou guessed.  
  
"/Right,/" Bakura admitted quietly. "/He never touched me./"  
  
"/Then I think I like him,/" Ryou decided, taking Bakura's hand and giving him a wicked grin. "/But not as much as you, Bakura- san./" He nuzzled up against the other boy, looking straight into his eyes. "/So, since we're alone now . . ./"  
  
"/Um./" Bakura turned pink. "/Yes?/"  
  
"/Let's take Yami-kun's advice and get a room!/" Ryou crowed.  
  
"/Ack!/" Bakura yelped, blush darkening as the other tightened his embrace. "/Ryou, not here!/"  
  
"/Like I said, let's get a room,/" Ryou replied, giggling at the other's startled expression. "/Sound like a plan, Bakura-kun?/"  
  
The change in suffix did not escape Bakura's notice, and, surprise, surprise: he blushed. Ryou's smile widened at the sight and he gave him a light kiss. Bakura returned the smile faintly and pressed their foreheads together.  
  
"/You're really beautiful,/" he whispered. Ryou chuckled softly and kissed him again, more deeply this time.  
  
"/You know,/" he said conversationally as he pulled back, "/this is kinda weird, isn't it./"  
  
"/'Weird'?/" Bakura tilted his head. "/What do you mean?/"  
  
"/Well, look./" Ryou held a hand up to the top of the thief's head. "/See? We're exactly the same height. And . . . well, I know you don't like it, but there is the issue of our pigmentation./"  
  
"/I know,/" Bakura answered mournfully, tangling his fingers in a lock of the soldier's white hair. "/I don't know how you can be so beautiful when you look so much like me./"  
  
Ryou smirked at him. "/You are pretty hot, you know./"  
  
"Liar," Bakura murmured, finding the other's lips again.  
  
Ryou would've argued, if he'd understood the word.  
  
~ * ~ * ~ * ~  
  
"Isis!" Yuugi cried excitedly, bursting into the seer's bedroom without even thinking that she might be in some kind of compromising position. Which she was, but not in the way one would think.  
  
"Hallo, my dear," Isis greeted from the bed, where she was busily standing on her tiptoes and painting a rather violent battle scene with lots of blood and whorls of smoke and flame on the ceiling.  
  
"Pharaoh." Her younger brother got up from the bed briefly to bow, then sprawled back down on it limply. "You are well?"  
  
"No worse than usual, Malik," Yuugi told him. "Wow, cool!" he gushed a moment later, staring up at the ceiling-wide mural appreciatively. "That's incredible, Isis!"  
  
"Thank you, dear," she replied, tossing him a quick, gentle smile over her shoulder. "It was a design that little artisan- for-hire of Seto's had done up for us. Could one of you please pass me the black paint?"  
  
"Sure." Yuugi handed up the little pot. "Having fun, then?"  
  
"Oh, yes." Isis smiled again. "Thank you for letting me paint this myself instead of having one of the artists do it."  
  
"It was no problem," Yuugi assured her. "Besides, this is cheaper for me anyway."  
  
"Point," she agreed with a chuckle. "Malik, darling, get the door. The guards are about to get here."  
  
"On it." Malik rolled off the bed and slunk over to said door, opening it just in time to seriously freak out the guards on the other side, the closest of whom had just raised his hand to knock. Isis and Malik had been together for their entire lives, and they'd worked out a system of such perfect timing that they had most of the palace terrified of them and convinced that the duo was capable of just about anything short of mind control.  
  
Which wasn't true, actually, because Malik was totally capable of that. He just didn't do it very often.  
  
Meanwhile, the guards shuffled in and Isis raised an eyebrow as they dragged in Honda, who was slightly bruised and smirking- probably because it was taking four guards to hold him and all of them were VERY bruised and not smirking in the least.  
  
"Konnichiwa, Honda-kun!" Yuugi greeted brightly. "/How have you been?/"  
  
"/Oh, just lovely, Inquisitor-san,/" Honda replied dryly. "/You?/"  
  
"/Wonderful!/" the pharaoh answered with clear relish. "/You're going to love it here, Honda-kun, I promise. This is Isis- she'll be your mistress. And this is her brother, Malik. He's insane./"  
  
"/You're doing the scary thing again,/" Honda muttered.  
  
"/Am I?/" Yuugi giggled and fluttered his eyelashes at the other. "/Oh, Honda-kun, you flatter me!/"  
  
"Ah, dear . . . " Isis began, raising a slender eyebrow with slight bemusement. "Clarification, please?"  
  
"You're too damn polite," Malik muttered. "It'd be a hell of a lot faster if you just kept an eye on the future."  
  
"No, that's inefficient." She shook her head. "Besides, if I read ahead to find out what he's going to say, he'll never have to say it, and then I'll have seen an impossible future, which is, of course, impossible."  
  
"God, I hate all this screwing-with-space-and-time crap." Malik winced.  
  
"Yes, it is fun, isn't it?" Isis smiled again and chuckled warmly. "But, dear . . .?"  
  
"This is Honda," Yuugi explained. "I got him for you. He's chiseled and muscular and was an officer in that nice little battalion we just captured and I bet he's really good for lifting stuff and killing people."  
  
"Well, he is pretty," Malik observed, peering critically up at the soldier. "Isis, can I bed him?" he asked with a hopeful grin.  
  
"No," Isis scolded. "Thank you very much, my dear Pharaoh," she added, turning to Yuugi. "But I don't really need any slaves- after all, I have Malik."  
  
"Hey!" Malik protested. "Not funny!"  
  
"Oh, but Isis . . ." Yuugi looked crushed. "But he's so sweet! Honest, you'll love him!"  
  
"Despite the language barrier, I assume?" Isis asked with another one of her many faint smiles.  
  
"Er, well . . . yes," Yuugi admitted with a nervous chuckle, tapping his knuckles together. "But he's still hot! And you know you need a new bodyguard after that mess with the assassins last week."  
  
"The Pharaoh's right, Isis!" Malik put in. "Let's keep him!"  
  
"Malik, you know I can't take care of a slave anymore," Isis sighed. "I'm very busy scrying and keeping an eye on the war effort right now."  
  
"I'll take care of it," Malik wheedled. "It'll carry heavy thing for us and give you your paint pots and I'll feed it and pet it and fuck it and make sure it doesn't run away."  
  
"Alright, alright- but NO sleeping with him," Isis warned her brother. "Unless he lets you, anyway."  
  
"Score!" Malik whooped, latching onto Honda's arm. "Come, Honda, and we shall have some fun!"  
  
Honda stared at him in confusion. "/Uh, Inquisitor-san . . .? Am I supposed to be his whore?/"  
  
"/Nope, you're Isis's whore,/" Yuugi replied, shaking his head. "/And her bodyguard./"  
  
"/Just checking,/" Honda told him, and then flipped Malik over his back and onto the floor. Malik yelped in shock and Honda calmly took a seat at the foot of the bed, closing his eyes and slipping a pair of short, serrated blades from the hip holsters hidden in his loincloth. "/I will protect her, then- but don't expect the treatment to extend to anyone else in this damned place,/" he added harshly.  
  
"/Never crossed my mind,/" Yuugi assured him. "/Which reminds me, I really ought to go find Seto before he destroys anything really expensive . . ./"  
  
A bloodcurdling scream of the sort to make one's very marrow freeze in their bones echoed through the palace hallways.  
  
"Oh shit," Yuugi muttered in exasperation, putting a hand to his forehead. "Not again."  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
. : review and me love you long time! ^__~ : . 


	7. The Calendars Count Down

A/N: Hey, it's another one of those super-quick updates! *swoons* God, I love all the nice reviews I get for this story- not just "this is cool" reviews, but long ones, with good ideas and intelligent questions! *_* Waiii! I feel loved. And inspired (hint-hint).  
  
Hm, people are starting to request that I put in that lemon I've been promising. -^__^- It's so nice to have such perverted fans. *pats your heads* There, there, dears, be patient. Let me fit in a teensy bit more plot first. And maybe some angst. I know you'd like that, wouldn't you?  
  
Oh, but for those of you who DO want lemon . . . what couple do you want to see first? I was originally intending to do Jounouchi/Seto, but I'm tempted to go for Bakura/Ryou, or I could do that OTHER hinted-at couple for which I will give you candy if you have guessed yet. Or I could do another couple entirely . . . or I could just get around to introducing the rest of the characters and resisting this strange urge to pair Isis up with Mai.  
"The Calendars Count Down"  
The woman, Honda had to admit, was not really that bad a person. She was just used to a society that saw servants as slaves and slaves as property, and considering her upbringing was surprisingly sympathetic to his less-than desirable situation. He hadn't been beaten or threatened in any way since the guards and that strange inquisitor had left to investigate the screaming, and she was in fact quite patiently trying to teach him how to draw a few different hieroglyphs on an old scrap of papyrus.  
  
To be honest, the things made him go cross-eyed, and he didn't even know what he was writing. He barely knew how to read his OWN language, and writing was mostly beyond him. He'd been raised to be a soldier, not an officer, and his unexpected promotion after his heroics in the last war had led to brief confusion until his illiteracy had been explained. After that, Anzu and Ryou had done the best they could between themselves to teach him, but unfortunately, they'd only had a few months before the next war began and they were all sent out again.  
  
Still, he had to admire Isis's tenacity. So far, he'd managed to successfully fail at duplicating every single one of the complicated glyphs, but the girl was still as patient as she had been when they'd begun. It had taken a few minutes to get across her intentions without the inquisitor as a go-between, but between the admittedly small handful of words both knew of each other's tongue and a fair amount of rather inventive body language, they'd more or less sorted it out.  
  
Well . . . he was PRETTY sure they had.  
  
Still, even discounting her strange desire to teach a foreign slave to write in her language, Isis seemed a bit odd. For example, several times she'd suddenly just stopped dead right in the middle of demonstrating a hieroglyph and stared out into thin air with a slightly vacant expression on her face- or worse, a slightly frightened one.  
  
She always recovered quickly, however, and Honda was rather laid- back anyway. With someone as tense as Yami as the officer he reported to he kind of had to be, or the whole army would've been in trouble. To be honest, the only thing that really disturbed him about Isis at this point was that she kept a little calendar by her bed that appeared to be counting down instead of up.  
  
He wasn't really sure why, but something in his gut was telling him that it might not be the best idea to stick around long enough to figure it out.  
~ * ~ * ~ * ~  
"My pharaoh." Seto bowed deeply as Yuugi ran up, followed by the guards.  
  
"We heard screaming. Seto, what did you do this time?" Yuugi asked wearily.  
  
"Nothing, lord," the priest assured him, quietly hoping that nothing on the rather long list of things he'd done lately that might induce screaming in others was responsible, or at least traceable.  
  
"My fault," a slightly muzzy voice mumbled from slightly further down the hall. "Fell down th' stairs. S'rry."  
  
Yuugi turned to the speaker and blinked in surprise. "Who . . .?"  
  
The young boy sprawled on the floor flashed him a slight smirk, then suddenly froze and palled. "Oh shit," he choked. "You're- "  
  
"The pharaoh, yes," Yuugi said impatiently, waving him off with one hand. "What else is new?"  
  
"Yami?" another voice interrupted, this one confused. Yuugi nearly fainted when he discovered it as belonging to the blond soldier from the market; who stood slightly behind him.  
  
"Why do you people keep CALLING me that?!" he shrieked, more than a little unnerved at how easily the blond had concealed his presence. NotgoodnotgoodNOTGOOD . . . especially not in someone who, as has been previously noted, was perfectly capable of starting a revolution on his looks alone.  
  
"I . . . I'm sorry." The blond looked slightly alarmed. "It's just . . . you look EXACTLY like . . ."  
  
"THAT general," Yuugi realized, suddenly scowling. "That stupid general that the nobles are always whispering about! That arrogant bastard of a king sent HIM here?! How DARE he?! I'll fucking kill him!"  
  
"Um, if it helps, I'm about as far from patriotic as you can get without coming back in the other direction," the blond volunteered, eyeing the guards with slight trepidation out of the corner of his eye. Oh sure, he could probably get past them without any fatal injuries, but then there were those few hundred OTHER guards in the palace to keep in mind . . .  
  
Seto burst into laughter, thoroughly terrifying the guards and giving Yuugi a shock that would've quite literally killed a lesser man. Fortunately for him (though less so for his much- harassed guards and advisors), he was just too damn stubborn to die in such an embarrassing way. Or probably at all- another problem for his long-suffering advisors. Heaven knew they'd slipped enough poisons into his food over the years, and at the very least he ought to have died from all of that greasy junk he kept eating, but noooo.  
  
Yuugi's family had been on the throne for a very long time, and had developed very thick skin, cast-iron stomachs, and the ability to go from zero-to-bitch in three seconds. The changes of his mood were actually distinguishable by the various levels of his physical attractiveness. When he was Dignified and Handsome he was about to banish someone to the Shadow Realm; when he was Endearingly Cute, he was plotting your death; when he was Really Fucking Sexy, he was contemplating important things and those who interrupted him would receive the admittedly dubious honor of helping to fatten up the very finicky royal crocodiles.  
  
And, most importantly for those feeling attached to the mortal world, when he got Downright Adorable, it was time to move to Persia. Preferably further if possible.  
  
Perhaps into the bits of the maps that said, "Here There Be Dragons."  
  
But currently, Yuugi was Bemusedly Yummy, which meant that if someone didn't do something distracting quick, a whole lot of people were going to find their life expectancy becoming unusually brief. Fortunately for the eight servants, five slaves, and seventeen guardsmen that would've otherwise become croc chow, the child did by trying to run away.  
  
"Stop!" Seto shouted automatically, realizing a second too late what a very stupid thing he might've just done and casting a desperate glance at the pharaoh, who fortunately seemed not to have heard the priest's cry over his own voice as he yelled at the guards to give chase.  
  
But . . .  
  
"Not so fast, brat!" the blonde announced, a hand snaking out to grab the back of the child's neck. "It's very rude to run away from Seto-sama after nearly landing on him!"  
  
"'Seto-sama?'" Yuugi repeated dubiously.  
  
"Hai, Pharaoh-sama!" the blonde agreed, bowing quickly but never releasing the boy. "Seto-sama, what do I do with him?"  
  
"Er . . ." Clearly, the priest hadn't thought that far ahead. "Just . . . just keep hold of him for a little while, alright, Jounouchi? I'll . . . deal with it."  
  
"Hai!" Jounouchi exclaimed, beaming at him and snapping off a quick salute.  
  
Seto gave him an odd look. "What in Osiris's name was that?" he demanded sourly.  
  
"Dunno," Jounouchi replied cheerfully. "Fun as hell, though. An' if I were you, I wouldn't use Osiris's name ta cuss. Kinda temptin' fate an' all, innit, considerin' yer patron's relationship with 'im?"  
  
"Shut up." Seto glared at him, bristling slightly. Yuugi frowned and tried to remember if Jounouchi had been speaking with such a harsh accent before.  
  
The soldier just smiled and patted the child's head.  
* tbc . . . *  
. : review, review! : . 


	8. Did You Want Breakfast In Bed?

A/N: *faints* Lemon Fluff reviewed this story. Lemon Fluff READ this story. *weeps with joy* This is as cool as the time I made Akira Ichijouji's favorites list.  
  
*author carefully pries r*a*d*i*a*n*y off of herself* I'm updating, I'm updating! Hm, looks like Katsuya/Seto got the most votes lemon-wise, so for now it seems they'll be the first ones to hit the sheets, barring sudden inspiration, the wrath of God, or more votes. However, Slice was being clever and guessed the implied couple, so since I can't give her candy with the Internet in the way, I gave her more Ryou and Bakura flirty-ness instead. ^__^  
  
. . . Yami talks like Gollum in this fic. -_-;;  
  
*  
  
*  
  
"Did You Want Breakfast In Bed?"  
  
*  
  
*  
  
"I hates you great much already," Yami said flatly as Ishtar handed him a heavy container of water.  
  
"Nice to meet you too," Ishtar replied with a poorly muffled snicker, leaning back over the well to pull up a fresh bucket. "You have really crappy grammar, you know that? And your accent is hellish."  
  
"Me still speaks Egypt better than you baka speak own birth tongue!" Yami hissed darkly, glaring at the taller man.  
  
"Well, I will give you that," Ishtar admitted. He pulled the bucket over and carefully poured its contents into a second pitcher.  
  
Yami gave the one in his arms a dubious look. It was brightly painted with truly demented-looking whorls and circles and glazed so thickly that he could see his reflection in it. It was also definitely not typical Egyptian art. There was no way he'd ever have been able to sell it, and no reason to have made it, but it had clearly been labored over. Ishtar had even signed it. Yami had never met an artist who signed his work before- he hadn't even known there WERE any.  
  
But by contrast, the pitcher Ishtar was filling was painted with a very detailed scene of Osiris's death at the hands of Set. Though it and the pitcher had been just as meticulously created as the one Yami held, the general couldn't believe that the other had been able to make both.  
  
"Who make this?" Yami asked suspiciously, tapping a finger on the side of his pitcher as Ishtar dropped the bucket down into the well again.  
  
"I did, of course," the artist replied with a laugh. "I make all my own things."  
  
"But why you make something like this one?" Yami demanded, frustrated at discovering what appeared to be an art style unto Ishtar alone, as opposed to belonging to a country.  
  
"Because I can, baka!" Ishtar cried, bursting into laughter. Yami just frowned at him.  
  
"Having fun, Ishtar?" a dry voice inquired suddenly. Yami jerked in surprise and automatically reached for a sword he no longer had.  
  
"Calm down," Ishtar told him, laughing again. "Yami-kun, this is my Malik. Malik-kun, this is my Yami. Make nice-nice." Yami glared darkly at the new presence, a thin, sharp-featured blond wearing a sour expression. He looked like a slightly neater and much less friendly version of Ishtar. "We're not related, before you comment on the resemblance," Ishtar added in amusement.  
  
"You bought a slave at today's market?" Malik looked irritated. "Isn't that chalky brat enough for you?"  
  
"Technically, I don't own him any more," Ishtar corrected with a faint shrug. "He's more than paid for himself."  
  
"Slaves can't buy themselves!" Malik yelled in exasperation, crossing his arms and fuming.  
  
"Well, he did," Ishtar replied with a grin, leaning back against the well. "What are you doing out of the palace anyway?"  
  
"Avoiding my sister's new slave," Malik admitted gloomily, clearly embarrassed. "He doesn't like me very much. I don't think he understands that Isis and I are siblings."  
  
"You run from slave?" Yami snorted in disgust. "What for? Why not whip?"  
  
Malik sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, let's see," he began, ticking off a list on his fingers, "he's taller than me, heavier than me, better built than me, can hide knives in about three square inches of loincloth, and, best of all, the Pharaoh thinks he's just about the neatest thing since the invention of the pyramid."  
  
"Really?" Ishtar gave him a curious look. "Then why does Isis still own him?"  
  
"Our lord gave him to her," Malik explained with a shrug. "He adores the man, but- well, you know the Pharaoh. He just doesn't keep pets. Probably has more servants than slaves, now that I think of it."  
  
"Sure he do," Yami said in disgust. "I bets he even treat slaves good."  
  
"Actually . . . " Malik gave a slightly self-conscious laugh. "Compared to most masters, he does."  
  
"The Pharaoh is a bit screwy," Ishtar explained in a mischievous whisper, twirling a finger in the air next to his head.  
  
"Ishtar-san!" Yami looked horrified, and quickly checked to make sure no one was close enough to have overheard. "What if you be heard?!"  
  
"I'll get my ears boxed by Malik-kun's onee-sama for dissing her 'dear' pharaoh," he answered cheerfully.  
  
Yami stared at him. " . . . you's joking," he said finally.  
  
"No, she'd do it," Malik agreed, shaking his head. "She's violent like that."  
  
"Not what me MEANS!" Yami groaned, fumbling for words. "Means- means- how it say-ed? Means, would not Pharaoh-sama kills your life for gettings bad insults?"  
  
"Eh?" Ishtar gave him a blank look.  
  
"Well, he might make us listen to one of his 'can't we all be friends?' rants," Malik mused thoughtfully, "but then again, he does that anyway."  
  
Yami looked like he was about to faint. "You makes jokes," he said in disbelief. "King at home kills life if say he be even small bit unfair! Throw my captains Anzu and Honda in dungeon for two week straight because they not wants whip child who laugh at king's clothes! Then punish lieutenant Ryou for not cut off other child's hand when it starving and steal stale loaf bread, and not even able to BEGIN explain what he does to me and Katsuya when he finded us in-!"  
  
Suddenly he turned bright red and clapped a hand over his mouth. Ishtar and Malik, simultaneously sensing weakness, shared predatory grins.  
  
"Ohhh?" Ishtar drawled with an arrogant little smirk, voice dripping with sugar. "Where did he find you?"  
  
"Perhaps in a brothel?" Malik suggested wickedly.  
  
"Perhaps in an enemy camp?" Ishtar added.  
  
"Dancing in the royal fountains!" Malik exclaimed, getting into it.  
  
"Running naked through the throne room!" Ishtar continued triumphantly.  
  
"Perhaps in each other!" they crowed in unison, both grabbing the other's hands in delight.  
  
Yami's furious blush darkened to nearly purple. "Urusai!" he yelled, and threw the contents of his pitcher over the pair.  
  
"Hey, watch it!" Ishtar sputtered. "Water is rarer here than where you're from!"  
  
The general blinked and looked guiltily at his empty jug. "Shit, that being right- I no even thinks," he muttered.  
  
"I'm not complaining," Malik purred, raking a hand across Ishtar's soaked chest. The artist's already half-sheer white loincloth now left about as much to the imagination as thin air.  
  
"Whore," Ishtar accused with a slightly feral grin.  
  
"Says the one who's wearing less than the slave," Malik countered smugly, giving the other's loincloth a sharp tug.  
  
"You is both crazy freak-childs," Yami informed the two flatly. They looked rather flattered.  
  
"So, where is Bakura anyway?" Malik asked suddenly. "Isn't he back yet?"  
  
"Came home today, actually," Ishtar replied with a happy smile. "He brought this one and another."  
  
"An ex-slave bought slaves?" Malik said dubiously, raising an eyebrow at his companion.  
  
"Personally, I think he stole them, but basically yes," Ishtar agreed merrily. "He seemed rather enamored of the other one, so we left them to screw and came to get water for the clay. It's getting much too dry."  
  
"Oi! Baka, you say you wants talkings!" Yami yelled at him angrily.  
  
"Eh?" Ishtar just looked at him for a moment; then understanding dawned on his face. "Oh, no- that was a lie!" he explained cheerfully. "Bakura-chan's been repressed; he deserves a good lay."  
  
"If not knowing Ryou-kun be such hentai anyway, I would takes offenses for him," Yami retorted sourly.  
  
"Hai, hai. They're probably making the beast with two backs even as we speak," Ishtar concurred, grinning faintly.  
  
*  
  
~ * ~ * ~ * ~  
  
*  
  
"Ryou," Bakura groaned breathlessly. "Oh Ra, Ryou . . ."  
  
"/I'm not THAT good./" Ryou blushed with pleasure and smiled.  
  
"/SO good,/" Bakura moaned, eyes fluttering shut in sheer ecstasy.  
  
"/You act like you've never had a home-cooked meal in your life, Bakura-kun,/" Ryou said, amused, as he reclaimed the ladle from his companion. "/Now sit down and let me finish, onegai. The stew still needs to simmer a little longer./"  
  
"/But it tastes so good!/" Bakura protested weakly, making a grab for the ladle.  
  
"/No!/" Ryou scolded, smacking the other's knuckles with it. "/Be patient!/"  
  
"/But I want to eat it./" Bakura sulked.  
  
"/You can,/" Ryou replied with another smile. "/It's all for you/- yakusoku da."  
  
"/It's really a promise?/" Bakura asked hopefully.  
  
"/Of course!/" Ryou beamed at him.  
  
"/Then why can't I have any yet?!/" he yelled.  
  
"/Because I'm tormenting you,/" Ryou said innocently, stirring the stew. "/I love this house,/" he added a moment later, looking around wistfully. "/It's so beautiful./"  
  
"/Better not repeat that too often, or Ishtar will molest you in his glee,/" Bakura told him with a smirk.  
  
"/I'd just have to distract him with your sexy body,/" Ryou said with a purr, rubbing his nose against the other's.  
  
Bakura flushed. "/He wouldn't be interested with you around,/" he retorted teasingly.  
  
Ryou's smile brightened, and he nuzzled up a little closer to the other. "/You should watch what you say too, Bakura-kun,/" he murmured in the other's ear, skipping his finger's up said Bakura-kun's chest. "/Because flattery gets you EVERYwhere./"  
  
"Ano . . ." Bakura blushed darkly. "Hentai!"  
  
"Hai, hai!" Ryou agreed with a small chuckle. "/But what are you going to do about it?/"  
  
Bakura mock-growled and pulled the other boy flat against him, grinning wickedly when he saw Ryou's eyes briefly widen in surprise. "/Gotcha,/" he declared smugly.  
  
"Sugoi," Ryou answered glibly, his own mouth forming a similarly wicked grin, and Bakura pressed his lips the soldier's neck and bit. "/Oh!/" Ryou gasped. "/Oh- oh MY . . . /" The soldier's eyes fell shut as Bakura flicked his tongue over the nape of his neck, the temptation of the food forgotten in favor of the much more tempting cook.  
  
"You are so lovely," Bakura murmured breathily, splaying a hand against the other's chest.  
  
Ryou sighed, but ignored the brief spouting of Egyptian. It wasn't like he really needed to hear pillow talk at this point anyway. Though . . . it would've been nice if they didn't have to worry about things like that. Even little things like that could be so disturbing.  
  
"Bakura-kun," he murmured softly, "/about that room . . .? /"  
  
"/Thought you'd NEVER ask,/" Bakura purred.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
*  
  
*  
  
A/N: I was going to continue last chapter's scene with Seto, Jou, and Yuugi, but I thought I'd be stuffing too much important information in for just one chapter. Fortunately for you guys, that means I've already started that scene and the next installment will be out faster than this one was . . . plus, it has Anzu! Barring sudden acts of inspiration, anyway. ^_^;;  
  
*  
  
*  
  
. : i can see you in the eye of the hurricane . . . : . 


	9. Dating Over Drinks

A/N: This took way too long to get out. -_-; But my computer was in the shop, and then my inspiration kept dying, so what're you gonna do, eh?  
  
For all of you wanting Anzu, here she is, in all her badass glory! ^___^ God, I love Anzu. She's effing awesome. *_* And SO hot in miniskirts. So no worries for those who like her: she's going to become much more involved. For those who HATE her . . . eh, just pretend she's Shaadi.  
  
Ooo, wait, I should write Shaadi in. *_* So nyah! You'll just have to deal with my Anzu-chan after all. *cuddles; molests* Anzu-chaaaan . . .  
  
*  
  
*  
  
"Dating Over Drinks"  
  
*  
  
*  
  
"Look," Yuugi said with a slight sigh. "I have to go find Malik, alright? He was supposed to brief me on his latest mission hours ago. Just deal with the child, and try not to kill or cripple this one, eh?"  
  
"Of course, my lord," Seto replied with a deep bow even as the pharaoh rushed off, followed closely by the guards.  
  
" 'This one'?" the child repeated, suddenly looking alarmed.  
  
"Long story," Seto murmured; then fixed Jounouchi with a harsh glare, well aware that the pharaoh was not quite out of hearing range just yet. "Bring the boy."  
  
The "slave" hid a quick grin and bowed, saying, "Hai, Seto- sama!" even as he grabbed said boy by the waist and threw him over a shoulder.  
  
"I told you never to come here," Seto said under his breath as he started up the stairs the boy had fallen from.  
  
"I'm sorry," the boy whispered guiltily. "But I was bored and I just wanted to see you."  
  
"Oi, oi, Seto-sama, who's the gaki?" Jounouchi interrupted curiously.  
  
"Keep your voice down, fool!" Seto hissed, clapping a hand over the other's mouth. "Are you incapable of acting or just stupid?!"  
  
"Both, I think," the blonde retorted sourly, aiming a half- hearted kick at the priest's shin but not connecting.  
  
"Idiot," Seto spat, aiming a kick that did NOT miss.  
  
"Ow! He's much friendlier when he's delirious with pain, you know," Jounouchi commented blithely to the boy on his shoulder as he rubbed at his sore knee.  
  
"Would you shut up already?!" Seto demanded, glaring back at him. "And put him down already! What are you, a pack mule?!"  
  
Jounouchi just shrugged and released the boy, who immediately jumped forward and latched onto Seto's waist with a cry of "Big brother!"  
  
"Don't call me that here, Mokuba," Seto said softly, carefully extracting himself from the child's embrace but pausing briefly to smooth the child's hair out.  
  
"You two are related?" Jounouchi blinked in surprise, pushing his own hair out of his eyes and peering more closely at the pair. "You don't look very much alike. Well, maybe the eyes, a bit . . .?"  
  
"We are not, I assure you," Seto cut in flatly. "I have no family. Were I to have any, in fact, they would most likely have been murdered by my enemies at court years ago, so you certainly wouldn't be meeting any of them now."  
  
"Oh, I see." Jounouchi nodded with a faint smirk, tapping a finger against his chin. "THAT kind of 'not related.'"  
  
"Shut up," Seto muttered, and started walking again.  
  
"Where are we going?" Jounouchi asked Mokuba in an undertone, leaning over slightly to speak in the boy's ear.  
  
"This is the way to Big Brother's room," the other whispered back.  
  
Jounouchi gave him a wicked grin. "Oh, IS it?" he asked, clearly pleased with the idea.  
  
"Don't you dare corrupt Mokuba's mind with any of your pillow talk!" Seto warned him sharply.  
  
"It's okay, Seto-sama; my pillow talk is all for you now," Jounouchi promised sweetly.  
  
"Could you be any more desperate?" Seto asked in disgust, suddenly stopping and pulling a key out from some hidden pocket or another and unlocking the nearest door. "It's pathetic to- oh for Ra's sake."  
  
"What is it?" Mokuba and Jounouchi both peered into the sparsely but richly furnished room.  
  
"Don't look." Seto absentmindedly covered his brother's eyes with one hand.  
  
"Hey!" Mokuba protested with a whine. "Lemme see!"  
  
"Oh myyy." Jounouchi, whose eyes were not covered and in fact now quite wide, had a perfectly good view of the figure tied down on the priest's bed.  
  
"Not again," Seto muttered. The girl on the bed trembled at the sound of his voice, never lifting her eyes. "You know the way home, Mokuba," he said, clearly irritated. "Get going. I've got to deal with this." The girl visibly flinched.  
  
"Right!" The child saluted sharply and ran off as Seto stalked into the room, simultaneously snatching one of his stilettos from a carefully concealed pocket in Jounouchi's loincloth. The soldier was impressed despite himself.  
  
The girl whimpered in horror and tried to pull away, but the ropes around her wrists kept her motionless.  
  
"Would you feel better," Jounouchi asked her cheerfully, "if I told you that he was very, very gay?"  
  
"H-huh?" the girl said weakly even as Seto crouched next to the bed and sawed carefully at her bonds. "What . . . what are you doing?" she squeaked.  
  
"Getting you off my bed," the priest said irritably. "I'm tired and just had my stomach stitched up by a crazy man and I badly want to go to sleep. Plus, I already have a fuck toy if I need one."  
  
"Hi." Jounouchi waved at her amiably, grinning disarmingly. "Name's Jounouchi. Yers?"  
  
"M-Miho," she said softly, watching in confusion as Seto hacked away.  
  
"Lovely to meet you," Seto retorted flatly. "Now get out of my room, alright?"  
  
"B-But they bought me for you!" she cried in terror. "If- if I'm not good enough, they'll kill me!"  
  
"Not if you run fast enough," Seto corrected with something that might've been a warped kind of cheerfulness.  
  
"Awww, Seto-sama, can't we keep her?" Jounouchi whined, kneeling on the bed next to Miho and patting her head affectionately. "She's cute."  
  
"I have no interest in taking a lover," Seto said sourly. "And certainly not one whom is both female and unwilling."  
  
"Good, 'cause I wasn't exactly planning to let you rape the poor thing," Jounouchi replied dryly, braiding a love knot into the slightly frightened Miho's hair, who relaxed only slightly at his words. "It's no fun when your victim is literally a victim."  
  
"I'm not even going to pretend to have understood that," Seto muttered; then pointed to the door. "Out. Now."  
  
The girl burst into tears. "But I don't wanna die!" she wailed. Jounouchi gave Seto puppy-dog eyes, and the priest twitched.  
  
"Fine!" he yelled, throwing his arms up in the air. "See if I care! Set her up in the corner with a pillow and a cat toy if you must! But YOU are feeding her!"  
  
Jounouchi grinned at him. "I knew you weren't so bad," he said cheerfully.  
  
"I am so!" Seto yelled, then seemed to realize what a ridiculously childish thing he'd just said and clapped a hand to his forehead in disbelief.  
  
"Your right to remain evil has been duly noted," the soldier said solemnly. "C'mon, Miho-chan, let's go find the kitchens, ne?" he added, perking up considerably at the thought.  
  
"Try not to get yourselves killed," Seto said sourly, flopping down on the bed as Miho stood up hesitantly. He snatched a scroll off his nightstand and snapped it open, already reading.  
  
"Adiosu, aman," Jounouchi called softly from the door. "Daisuki da, Seto-sama. Zutto."  
  
"Hn," Seto replied distantly.  
  
Maybe he'd go to the library later and find a Japanese-Egyptian dictionary.  
  
*  
  
~ * ~  
  
*  
  
"Hands OFF!"  
  
An unfortunate pervert hit the wall, courtesy of the curvaceous brunette he'd been trying to grope. The girl ground her heel into his groin for good measure and glared grimly at the rest of the bar's patrons, who winced in sympathetic alliteration.  
  
"And THAT," Anzu said triumphantly, tossing her hair, "is sweet lovin' in MY hometown."  
  
"Was that necessary?" the bartender asked, genuinely curious.  
  
"Fully," Anzu confirmed with a curt nod. "He was very rude- he expected to be allowed to court me without any of the proper formalities!"  
  
"Such as . . .?" The bartender smirked faintly.  
  
"Oh, something like this," Anzu said vaguely, carefully straightening out her hair and rearranging her dress.  
  
"Eep," the nearest patron squeaked as she suddenly leaned on his table.  
  
"Buy me a drink?" she asked sweetly, fluttering her eyes and flashing her cleavage at him.  
  
"Um, sure?" he tried weakly. The bartender passed Anzu a beer. She took a quick, dainty sip, and then downed the rest in one gulp as the patron paid, looking rather puzzled.  
  
"Okay, now I can be courted," she told him cheerfully.  
  
"Er . . ." He gave her a slightly odd look. "Why, exactly?"  
  
"Because you bought me a drink," she explained, in that careful way that most people do when speaking to the uneducated. "And I drank it, implying my acceptance. Admittedly, dinner is more polite, but that usually implies a desire for an actual emotional relationship. Still, now you can court me or, if you'd prefer, you can throw me over your shoulder and we'll go have hot sex in the back."  
  
The patron choked on his own drink. "What the hell?!" he sputtered, staring bug-eyed at her.  
  
"Did I say something wrong?" Anzu asked, puzzled, as she thumped his back hard enough to send him halfway off his chair and spilling the rest of his drink all over himself.  
  
The bartender smiled and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ears. "Care for another drink? This one's on me," she purred, winking at the brunette.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
*  
  
*  
  
. : the dark is rising . . . : . 


	10. Their Unfamiliar Feelings

A/N: *humming* Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you; happy birthday, dear Sam, happy birthday to you. ^_~  
  
Well, Sam was seventeen on the fifth (sorry it's late, hon, but I was sick that day), so I decided to drag this poor story out and write a chapter for her, because she is a Bakura whore and we all know that I was dying to write another make-out scene anyway. XD Hopefully I did a good job.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
"Their Unfamiliar Feelings"  
  
*  
  
*  
  
Lip-to-lip, arms and legs tangled and tight, and everything so warm and wonderful . . .  
  
Bakura had never felt like this. He'd never thought he could. He was too used to being angry, to hating people, to hating himself.  
  
But Ryou . . .  
  
Ryou, with the pale lips and ghostly hair and sunburnt skin and hands that went everywhere and gave everything they touched equal attention. Ryou, who wore his gift of jewelry proudly and spoke so frankly. Ryou, who smiled at him and accepted his affection and smelled like dust and sweat and roses and was so, so beautiful . . .  
  
"/So lovely,/" Ryou whispered, and Bakura whined at the feeling of the other's breath on his neck.  
  
"Ryou!" he gasped. "Oh Ra, Ryou, Ryou, RYOU!"  
  
Ryou giggled, his hands roaming eagerly up and down the thief's sides. Both were only half-dressed and thoroughly rumpled, and they'd managed to knock a great deal of the ubiquitous jewelry off the kitchen counter and table before stumbling into the main room in a failed attempt to get upstairs. They hadn't let go of each other since beginning, save a brief pause to yank the boiling stew off the stove before it exploded or burst into flames or anything inconvenient like that.  
  
Oh, and a brief pause in which Ryou had discovered Ishtar's hidden stash of chocolate sauce.  
  
Ryou, by the way, looked really, really good in chocolate. And he tasted even better.  
  
They were definitely going to need a bath after this.  
  
"/Blast these clothes,/" Ryou muttered, trying in vain to figure out the complicated knot in Bakura's belt. "/How did you even GET this so tangled?/"  
  
"/It's supposed to be like that,/" Bakura told him with a breathless laugh. "/Ishtar made it for me- his clothes are always odd./"  
  
"/Ishtar-san made it . . .?/" Ryou repeated, looking slightly troubled. "/It must have been hard . . . /"  
  
"/For him?/" Bakura shrugged. "/Eh, I doubt it. He's always making something strange. He loves to do it- keeps his hands busy./"  
  
"/And he loves you./" Ryou's tone brooked no argument, and all traces of sexuality between the two stopped there.  
  
" . . . hai," Bakura admitted slowly, not understanding the other's reaction. He couldn't actually be jealous, could he? Who possibly would? "/But not how you think. I told you, he likes someone else./"  
  
"/Who?/" Ryou demanded. "/Tell me!/"  
  
"/Malik, the seer's brother,/" Bakura said with a sigh. "/He lives at the palace./"  
  
Ryou's eyes suddenly narrowed, and his fingers dug painfully into Bakura's skin. "/Him,/" he hissed with absolute venom. "/I remember HIM./"  
  
*  
  
*  
  
* ~ * ~ *  
  
*  
  
*  
  
Yuugi returned to the palace that evening soaked with beer and irritated with Malik, and also looking Endearingly Cute (which, if you'll recall, meant that he was plotting murder). The blond hadn't shown for their scheduled meeting, which meant that he was still in the dark about the enemy's current movements. Malik was a damned good spy, but sometimes the pharaoh had to wonder if he was really worth the trouble.  
  
"Dear!" Isis exclaimed, dashing up to him with a blanket. "Oh gods, look at you, you're a MESS!" Honda followed her, giving Yuugi a bemused look.  
  
"/Where have you been, Inquisitor-san?/" he asked suspiciously. "/And where did you get that bracelet?/"  
  
"/Bracelet?/" Yuugi repeated blankly; then turned a bright crimson as he remembered. "/There was a girl at the tavern,/" he explained sheepishly, holding up his left wrist, which now sported an intricately-woven copper bracelet- something that looked ridiculously cheap next to his larger gold bracers but had clearly been made with more care. "/I bought her a drink and she gave it to me . . . said it was a promise./"  
  
"/Yes, I know,/" Honda murmured. "/Giving jewelry in our culture . . . it's a promise of sex, or love, or fidelity. And I know who that bracelet belongs to . . . /"  
  
"/You do?!/" Yuugi exclaimed in shock.  
  
"/Yes,/" Honda said simply. With that, he stepped back as Isis bustled forward, wrapping a second blanket around the dripping, dirty pharaoh.  
  
"Oh, Yuugi," she said with a sigh. "Why must you try so hard? You'll drive yourself into your grandfather's grave."  
  
Yuugi's expression softened. "Please don't worry, Isis," he said gently. "I'll be careful, I promise."  
  
"You had better!" she yelled, smacking his shoulder. "Now get to bed! Things are going to get tougher from here on. And before you ask," she added with clear exasperation, "you WILL see her again."  
  
Yuugi blushed. "Thank you, Isis," he replied softly.  
  
"You're welcome, dear," she said with a smile, patting his head. "Now, to bed! Honda darling, be a dear and walk him there, would you?" The speaking was pointless, of course, but she managed to get the general idea across with hand signals.  
  
"But what about you?!" Yuugi protested as they were herded down the hall.  
  
"Oh, I'll be fine!" Isis reassured him with another sweet smile. "Otogi won't try to kill me until tomorrow, and Shaadi is VERY good at fixing knife wounds, so Honda darling won't have any trouble either!"  
  
". . . you know, Isis, sometimes you creep even ME out, and that's saying something," Yuugi said finally.  
  
"I know, dear," she replied, and again patted his head. "Don't worry about it. Oh, and go say hello to Seto's new pet on your way to bed- she's in the kitchens, and it's only polite."  
  
"'She'?" Yuugi repeated with a bemused expression. "What happened to that blond soldier?"  
  
"Oh, Jounouchi's not a pet!" Isis exclaimed with a laugh. Honda visibly twitched at the name- the only thing he could recognize out of the sentence. "Jounouchi is in LOVE with him!"  
  
"Whaaaat?!" Yuugi yelped. "No WAY! That creepy blonde has the hots for Seto?!"  
  
"That too," she agreed. "But let me see . . . how did Jounouchi phrase it? Oh, yes . . . 'Daisuki da, Seto-chan. Soreirai zutto- warenagara. Kuchidzukeru watashi? Onegai?'" she repeated carefully. "What does that mean? I'm afraid I don't know all the words."  
  
Honda and Yuugi were both staring at her.  
  
"Um," the pharaoh stammered finally, unable to keep the blush off his face. "Um, maybe you were right about bed. /Come on, Honda, let's get going./"  
  
"/Who is 'Seto-chan'?/" Honda asked, puzzled, even as he followed the shorter boy.  
  
"/We'll discuss it later!/" Yuugi hissed, breaking into a run as soon as he was around the corner.  
  
Honda looked back at Isis, bemused, but she simply smiled and ushered him on. "You should be going also, Honda darling," she said with a small laugh. "But . . . before you do, what does 'kuchidzukeru watashi, onegai' mean? Do you understand what I'm asking?"  
  
He understood.  
  
"Mean . . . please do . . . please do . . ." Honda began slowly, fumbling for words in a language he'd barely had a week to study, "means please do . . ."  
  
Screw it. He'd never been the sort to care about words.  
  
So instead he demonstrated exactly what "kuchidzukeru watashi" meant, and succeeded in being the first person to honestly shock Isis since the day she'd been born.  
  
"Honda go . . . kit-chen?" he asked hesitantly, hoping he had the general idea of the words right.  
  
"Of . . . of course," Isis stammered, raising a hand to her mouth. "Ah . . . Yes, go."  
  
He bowed quickly and did so. Isis watched him in confusion.  
  
"That . . . wasn't supposed to happen," she said softly. "I'm almost afraid to ask for the rest of the translation if those words . . . really meant 'kiss me.'"  
  
She couldn't repress her blush.  
  
"But oh, God, he was a good kisser!" Isis squealed finally, clapping her hands together.  
  
This was definitely a new feeling. And she definitely liked it.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
* ~ * ~ *  
  
*  
  
*  
  
Yuugi had barely entered the kitchen when . . .  
  
"Yami-kun!" a gleeful voice crowed, and Yuugi found himself instantly tackled and thoroughly kissed.  
  
"HEY!" he shrieked around the other's mouth. His attacker pulled back, looking puzzled.  
  
"Oh," Jounouchi said in surprise as he blinked down at the shocked shorter boy- no one had ever DARED to touch him like that; he was the PHARAOH, gods dammit! "It's you again. Sorry, Pharaoh-sama . . . man, though, you taste good." Yuugi turned a brilliant shade of red.  
  
"Jounouchi!" Honda cried as he came in behind them.  
  
The blonde's eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet, throwing his arms around the other with a delighted cry. "Honda!" he crowed happily. "/Honda, Honda, Honda! Oh my God, I was so worried!/" Then he blinked, took in the sight of the extremely embarrassed Yuugi, remembered he was NOT Yami, and slapped Honda upside the head. "/You baka! You got yourself captured!/" he yelled in exasperation.  
  
"/Look who's talking!/" Honda shot back.  
  
"/That's different!/" Jounouchi complained. "/Seto-sama is fucking HOT! Pharaoh-sama is nowhere near as whorish!/"  
  
Honda nearly choked. "/THAT is the pharaoh?!/" he hissed in shock.  
  
"/You didn't KNOW?!/" Jounouchi burst into laughter. "/You idiot!/"  
  
"/You were KISSING him!/" Honda shrieked.  
  
"/ . . . oops ?/" Jounouchi said weakly, giving him a guilty smile.  
  
"BAKA!" Honda yelled, cuffing him. The situation immediately degenerated into a wrestling match, though somehow they managed not to knock anything breakable over.  
  
"What the fuck?" Yuugi said blankly.  
  
"Were you hungry, my lord Pharaoh?" a polite voice inquired from by the stoves.  
  
"Eh?" Yuugi turned towards the sound and found a very familiar boy there, grinning at him. "MALIK!" he yelled, grabbing him by the shirt. "Where in hell have you been, you little bastard?!"  
  
"Seducing my pretty boyfriend and getting yelled at by one of his new pets," Malik reported cheerfully. "Isis said not to meet you in the tavern because you had to run into someone else."  
  
"What?" Yuugi stared at him. "But she didn't say anything when I got back, just- oh," he realized, eyes automatically dropping to the copper bracelet. "Her."  
  
"Where'd that come from?" Malik asked curiously. "It looks like- " He suddenly paled and jerked back. "Oh shit," he rasped. "You met HER?!"  
  
"Her who?" Yuugi repeated automatically.  
  
"That captain!" Malik hissed. "That horrible, horrible girl!"  
  
That was when Jounouchi leaned over and caught a glimpse of the bracelet himself. "Anzu," he breathed, eyes wide.  
  
For some reason, Yuugi shivered at the sound of that name.  
  
*  
  
*  
  
* tbc . . . *  
  
*  
  
*  
  
. : kiss me, onegai? : . 


End file.
